I began my second day of college alone. After Longhorn rejected my apology, he left abruptly. So at 11:41 A.M., I headed over to the doorframe, and looked out. The smell of mold was omnipresent, but the floor was otherwise supernaturally quiet. Then the footsteps came. It was a loose stride of someone in wet flip-flops. A second later, a tall scruffy guy lurched past me, before nearly falling out of his towel.

“Holy crap!” He said, clutching his heart with one hand and the frayed towel end with the other. “You scared the crap out of me.”

I introduced myself calmly as to not further startle him.

“Call me Sweet Cream – or SC for short…It’s an ice-cream flavor dumbass!” He said at my raised eyebrow. “I like ice cream. But not as much as I like Led Zeppelin.”

“Great introduction.” I said sarcastically. “I bet you have lots of friends.”

“Man, you’re funny.” He said right back. “Almost as funny as your bit yesterday.”

“Shut up.” I barked defensively. “It was the Natural Light.”

“Nasty Natty?” He said with a broad grin. “That’ll definitely mess with those crucial decisions – whether or not to be a moron for a first impression.”

“He’s a weirdo. A certifiable weirdo.” He said in a clipped staccato string of words. “Last night, he’s listening to Aboriginal music – the same damn track too.” He held up a hand. “And before you accuse me of being a racist bastard, let me tell you that he’s taller and fatter than me, and whiter too, a real pale fish of a guy from Minnesota. And did we do anything fun, you know, break the ice or whatever? Yeah, right. He doesn’t even like to talk. He just sits there – if you can get that – sits there, rocking out to that music, and then – get this. It’s a quarter to ten. And he tells me he’s going to bed, so I’d better keep it down...so I do – because he has that serial killer look – friendless and with glasses. I’m just unpacking anyways, and I look over, and he’s in bed, fully dressed. And I know what you’re thinking, but it gets better. Way better. He’s not only wearing all of his clothes that he just was, because I see the pant legs sticking out from the sheet, but he’s still wearing his shoes, completely laced up! It’s completely wacko. I’ve got a nut for a roommate. And honestly, I’d swear that he was almost asleep with his eyes open. And then he gets up at seven, if you could believe it. With the music, again. Gotta have that music.”

I shook my head in disbelief, and then told SC my story, to which he nodded his head in sympathetic disbelief.

“Well, come by in a couple minutes, when I’m dressed. Then we’ll go see what trouble we can stir up…crap!”

“What?” I said, turning around.

“He locked me out? I told him to leave the door open, because I was just taking a shower – and he locked me out!”

Intrigued, I came over. Our frantic pounding only bruised our fists.

“How about a little help?” SC asked. “You know how to card into a room?”

“Aw, I see. Now you need help, so you want to apologize about all those nasty things you said earlier.” I said, laughing.

“Well, if you can manage it, I might tell people that you’re not a total waste, but damn, hurry it up, if you do know – do you?”

Actually, yes.” I responded cheerfully. I whipped out my empty wallet with my dented and trusty Blockbuster card. I wedged and wiggled it between the frame and the plate, and tricked out the pins, resulting in the tell-tale click, followed by the door swinging open. It took about five seconds.

“Thanks.” He cracked. “Now I’m going to steal all this crappy stuff. Seriously. I live here. Do you mind going back next door, stalker, so I can change?”

I headed back smiling, relaxed for the second time at college. In a matter of minutes, SC was back over, now clothed, and still making outlandish statements. As we headed out to get some chow, he casually remarked about the inequity of us not rooming together when we were clearly of a like mind.

“Funny you should mention that.” I said. “I think some changes could be made…”